


Reportedly Missing

by frith_in_thorns



Category: Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Poison, Sometimes Simon is extremely unhelpful, Time Period: Vorkosigan Regency, nefarious plots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-10
Updated: 2019-05-10
Packaged: 2020-02-28 04:01:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18748609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frith_in_thorns/pseuds/frith_in_thorns
Summary: "So, Simon," Aral said. "Would you like to tell me why you're hiding under my desk?"





	Reportedly Missing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Philomytha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Philomytha/gifts).



> Thank you to Raven for helping me understand basic rules of grammar.

"What do you mean, _missing_?" Aral demanded.

The ImpSec officer on the comconsole screen winced. His harried expression intensified at having to repeat himself. "We can't locate Captain Illyan," he said. "Nor can ImpMil. He's now officially classed as missing."

Aral took a deep breath, looked down for an instant, then up at the ceiling. "Since when?"

"Since probably last night. My lord Regent," he added, as if he hoped that might help.

"Probably?" Aral asked, raising his eyebrows. He was aware he was being too sarcastic, but was unable to stop himself.

The officer winced again. "He doesn't exactly keep regular hours. Sometimes he works in his office all night, and sometimes he's out liaising with other departments." _Sometimes he's getting leisure time_ did not, of course, feature. "No one can remember seeing him for certain since yesterday evening, but it's not like anyone was keeping track." He fell silent with a hangdog expression, apparently waiting for Aral to reach through the screen and take his head off.

Aral was not about to do that, for several reasons. He rubbed his forehead and sighed instead. "Do you have any leads?" _Obviously not, or you would have led with them._

"We're working on it, my lord."

"Keep me informed."

"Of course, my lord."

Aral cut the screen. He remained standing, contemplating the ceiling for long seconds. Then he finally allowed himself to look down. "So, Simon," he said. "Would you like to tell me why you're hiding under my desk?"

The office of the Imperial Regent had come with an extremely large, solid desk, lavishly carved out of some dark wood. There was enough room for Simon to sit leaning against one side of it with his head not quite brushing the top and his legs outstretched — conveniently. Since he had apparently been there all night.

Simon gave him a wry half-smile. "Thank you for not notifying ImpSec." His voice was rough.

"I assume you have some good reason for being here, which I'm very eager to hear." The sarcasm was creeping in again, but it was already shaping up to be a rather trying morning, and it was only five past eight. "Unless ImpSec is now playing hide and seek as a team-building exercise?"

"Not exactly," Simon said. "I've been poisoned."

That hit Aral like a punch to the stomach. "What," he said, blankly, and dropped to his knees, looking at Simon in a way that he had so far failed to. Now he could see the signs — Simon was pale, sweat-sheened, breathing too fast. "Who — No. You're hiding here, so you suspect someone close to you."

Simon closed his eyes briefly. It seemed an effort to open them again. "I don't know," he said. "I've been running everything over, and I don't see when it happened. I hadn't left the ImpSec building for three days, but I've been at a lot of meetings, including a conference with chief staff from ImpMil yesterday. It's an alarmingly large suspect pool."

Aral checked Simon's pulse, for something to do, and found it racing beneath fever-hot skin. "We need to get you to the hospital," he said. Simon opened his mouth to protest. "I'll arrange security myself, from my armsmen. Screen all the doctors personally."

Simon caught his arm. "Don't you see? There's a brief window of opportunity while whoever did this tries to locate me. If the next step of the plan is to get to you or the emperor, they might move on with it as soon as they hear where I am."

"You're assuming a lot here," Aral pointed out.

Simon shook his head impatiently. "It makes sense. If I —"

There was a brief rap on the door, followed by it opening. Aral scrambled abruptly to his feet.

"Dropped something?" Lady Alys asked, looking politely baffled to have walked in on the lord Regent crouched behind his desk. At least she was probably the least risky out of all the people on the short list of those who felt they could enter the office with only a perfunctory knock to announce themselves.

"Could you lock the door, please?" Aral asked. Simon's eyes widened and he made a small sound of alarm, but Aral ignored him. It had occurred to him that Alys was _also_ on the short list of people who were competent in a crisis, had the necessary clearances, and unequivocally did _not_ want to harm Simon.

She didn't ask any questions until she had locked the door, or indeed after — she made an immediate beeline for the desk. Her hand went to her mouth in surprise as she came around it, and she knelt quickly. "Simon, you look terrible! What's happened? And why are you under Aral's desk?"

Simon gave her the same answers he'd given before. Aral tried not to feel guilty that Alys had noticed Simon's condition immediately instead of the several minutes it had taken him.

"How do you know that you've been poisoned, and you're not just ill?" Alys asked at the end.

"Experience," Simon said, somewhat wryly.

She didn't argue with that, although her lips narrowed in dissatisfaction. "And why on earth are you _still_ squashed under there? Surely you'd be far more comfortable on the couch?"

"In case someone saw him," Aral said, and was reduced to a couple of inches high as Alys gave the door, and its solid lock, a withering glare. 

"We can certainly fix that now," she said, and looked at Simon pointedly until he crawled out. 

He moved slowly and awkwardly, as if his joints were stiff, or as if he was finding his body difficult to control. Aral saw the arm he was supporting his weight with begin to buckle and threw his own arm under Simon's shoulder to support him. Simon groaned and flopped against him, heat baking off his skin. Alys ducked under his other arm. "Simon?" she asked, worriedly.

"Yes," he said, eyes closed, but no more was forthcoming. Between them they got him over to the couch and he folded onto it, breathing heavily, no colour at all left in his face. Aral lifted Simon's feet so that he could lie down properly. He put up no resistance, and didn't open his eyes.

Aral stepped back, and exchanged alarmed looks with Alys. She gestured, and he followed her to another corner of the room.

"He really does look awful," she whispered. "Shouldn't we be getting him medical attention?"

"He refused," Aral said.

She gave him an irritated look. "I don't think you should have listened."

Aral would have argued, except that he actually agreed with her. 

She continued before he could say anything. "Isn't there at least some sort of first aid protocol for poison? Getting him to throw up, or something?"

"Already done," Simon said, tiredly, without turning his head. "Took some meds too."

Alys paced back towards him. "Well, what else do we need to do?"

"Nothing," Simon said. "Just need to rest. Until my head's clearer."

"You sound extremely confident," Alys said, dryly.

"Experience," Simon said, again. 

Alys frowned at him for several seconds, and folded her arms. "Simon. I'm beginning to suspect that you haven't given us all the facts."

Simon made what was either a noncommittal noise or a groan. At any rate, it seemed to be his entire answer.

"Simon?" Aral prompted.

Simon blinked at him, slowly. "Could you… wait for a better time?" His voice was beginning to slur.

Whether or not Simon was dissembling (and Aral kicked himself for not noticing sooner) he was genuinely also fading. He shuddered slightly, and shut his eyes again.

"Simon?" Alys asked, but he had gone slack, his breathing settling into a slower rhythm. She leaned over him, looking worried and unhappy. "What are you going to do now?" she asked Aral.

He needed a plan. That didn't involve either ImpSec, ImpMil, or waking Simon up and threatening to wring his neck until he divulged _exactly_ what was going on. Aral turned a calculating eye on Alys. "Can you run a few errands for me?" he asked. "Unobtrusively."

She nodded briskly, clearly eager for some action to take. "Supplies?" she suggested, ticking things off on her fingers. "Water, food, medical necessities — write me a list of those. And shall I find Cordelia?"

"Yes _please_ ," Aral said, gratefully.

She didn't return for over an hour, during which Simon didn't wake. He tossed and fidgeted, and to Aral's deep worry grew more feverish. Aral alternated between hovering and attempting to put out some of the more urgent fires in his inbox — difficult, when most of his focus was on Simon. Who hadn't even divulged enough of his suspicions to let Aral make any progress on investigating on his own.

The problem with Simon's extremely efficient handling of ImpSec (from Aral's perspective) was that much of its day-to-day running was a mystery to Aral. He was only able to assemble a cursory list of suspects from within the ranks, and it was almost all of the names in the upper hierarchy he actually knew. He eventually abandoned it in disgust and moved on to considering ImpMil, the personnel of which were more familiar, but he still struggled to make a list of who might choose to go after Simon specifically. _If it's a power grab, probably anyone with sense,_ he considered, glumly.

Alys finally unlocked the door and rescued him from this unhelpful line of thought. Cordelia accompanied her, and pressed Aral's hand briefly in greeting as she went to Simon.

"Any news?" he asked Alys.

"Quiet, but along the lines of muted panic," Alys said. "Lots of ImpEveryone looking worried, but of course they wouldn't tell _me_ what the matter was." She gave a faint toss of her head. "I'd say you've got less than an hour before people start to wonder where you are."

"Thank you," Aral said, with the respect he would give any officer reporting to him. She acknowledged with a brief dip of her head.

Cordelia was frowning over Simon, checking breathing, pulse, temperature. She gave his shoulder a small shake, calling his name.

"I let him sleep," Aral said. "Should I not have?"

She glanced at him briefly, a non-answer. "I'm trying to get him to respond."

Simon twitched under her efforts, but that was it. Cordelia bit her lip.

"Is it bad?" Alys asked, in a tone suggesting no confirmation was needed.

"Yes," Cordelia said, shortly. She looked at Aral, then drew herself to her feet in one sharp motion and raised her chin. "Aral, I don't care what he told you or what game he's playing, he needs to be in hospital. Now."

"At your order, Captain," Aral said.

She had been holding herself for an argument; it was with clear relief that she deflated. "The sooner the better. Security —"

"I'll handle that," Aral said. "Stay here with him, both of you, while I make the arrangements." As unobtrusive as possible, that would be the key.

He passed a determinedly focused ImpSec man in the corridor, but as Alys had said, everything was unusually quiet. He met a second ImpSec man on the stairs, who gave a start. "Lord Regent! I didn't think you were in the building!"

"I've been in my office all morning," Aral said, a little impatiently.

"Really? Bartov checked earlier and said it was empty."

"No one's even knocked —" Aral stopped short. "Bartov. Tall, ginger fellow? Colonel?"

"Yes, that's him. Why?"

Aral turned and raced back the way he'd come.

The door, unlocked, opened at his hand. Aral gulped for air. Simon still lay insensible on the couch, while the ImpSec Colonel who had brushed past Aral minutes earlier held a nerve disruptor on Alys and Cordelia.

"If you move," Bartov said, almost pleasantly, "I'll shoot your wife first."

Cordelia's expression was pure fury.

"What's this about?" Aral asked, evenly.

"Cutting the head off the snake," Bartov said. "I'm sorry about the women, but I'm running out of time and Illyan was supposed to be dead by now. I meant to get you on your own."

Behind Bartov, Simon sat up. He swung his feet carefully down to the floor, displaying remarkably little disorientation for someone who had been unconscious moments ago. Apparently unconscious.

Alys let out a theatrical sob, pulling attention towards her. "Be quiet!" Bartov ordered, and then Simon's arm wrapped around his throat in a choke-hold as Simon put his bodyweight into pulling Bartov over backwards.

Aral leapt to assist, throwing himself on top of Bartov to pin him while trying to force the nerve disruptor up and away. Then Cordelia was there too, bending Bartov's wrist back until he dropped the weapon with a howl of pain.

Guards poured in — Alys had hit the alarm. Aral rolled off Bartov as the immediate vicinity became full of people trying to assist with the arrest. Aral shrugged off everyone trying to talk to him and crawled to Simon, lying prone where Bartov had fallen on him. "Simon," he said, urgently, reaching for him.

"Yes," Simon said, thickly, distinctly. "I'm fine." He needed Aral's assistance to sit upright.

Bartov spat. "You might not be dead yet, but you will be soon," he said, expression and voice full of loathing.

"What did you poison me with?" Simon asked. He touched his chest unconsciously, mouth tightening on pain.

"An old hill mixture from the occupation," Bartov said. "No known antidote, I'm afraid. Always fatal."

There was no remorse in his face. "Get him out of here," Aral said, in cold fury. "Someone find out exactly what he dosed Simon with. And get a medic here immediately."

"I'm fine," Simon said, as Bartov was handed away. He tried to stand up, and promptly lost his balance. "I'm not dying."

"You know what he gave you?" Cordelia asked.

"No." Simon again tried to get up, and this time Aral assisted him — against his better judgement, but on the grounds that Simon clearly wasn't going to stop. Leaning on him heavily, Simon made it over to a side cabinet where he reached between a clock and a hideous ornamental vase and pulled something out, hissing in triumph.

"Is that a camera?" Aral demanded.

"Yes," Simon said. "Only saw the feed for a second, but I guessed the angle."

"Sit down before you fall over," Alys ordered, and Aral steered them back to the couch. Simon was shaking now, face grey, and he all but collapsed onto it. "Simon. You knew all along Bartov was the one who poisoned you?"

"I suspected," Simon said. "I've been uneasy about some of his contacts for a while. He'd know how to exploit the power vacuum."

"You should have told us!" Alys exploded. "We could have spent this time looking for an antidote! I can't believe —"

"I don't need one," Simon said, wearily. "It'll wear off."

"But Bartov said —" she began, and then suddenly stopped. Glared at him. Inhaled. "Simon Illyan, I am going to kill you myself."

"What?" Aral asked, almost plaintively, and then he thought it through. "My god, Simon. Please tell me that you didn't poison _yourself_."

"It was the safest thing to do," Simon said. "If I was clearly showing the effects, he wouldn't suspect I was onto him. Like I said, it's not fatal." He belayed his assurances by having to lean forward briefly to get catch his breath, fingertips pressed to his temples.

Cordelia examined him critically. "I think you gave yourself a higher dose than you needed."

"Possibly," Simon admitted. "But it had to look authentic."

"I _am_ going to kill you," Alys announced. "Slowly and painfully. Do you know how frightened I've been?"

"I'm truly sorry, my lady," Simon said. He sounded like he meant it, or at least he sounded miserable. 

The medic showed up then, and was quickly inducted into the chorus of people expressing their displeasure with Simon. "You do realise toxins can do a lot of damage without being fatal, yes?" he said, and told Aral that he should be transferred at once to ImpMil.

"Do it, and don't listen if he objects," Aral said. He fixed Simon with a quelling glare. "You can _never_ do anything like this again. I forbid it."

"It was a justified risk," Simon said.

The medic had gone to rally a team; there was a small moment of privacy. "Simon," Aral said, and crouched to be on his level. "You are far too valuable to use yourself as bait." Simon drew breath to argue, but Aral didn't let him. "Your loss would break me."

"My lord," Simon protested.

"It would," Aral said. "I charge you to act accordingly."

Simon held his gaze for a long moment, and finally dropped his eyes as another shudder passed through him. "Yes, my lord," he said, quietly.

"Ready to go?" the medic asked.

Alys put her hand firmly on Simon's shoulder. "We're coming with you," she said, as Cordelia stepped up close to Aral.

Simon did not object.


End file.
